Chapter Text
For a boy with painfully pale skin and sunken cheeks, Quinn's eyes held an unusually keen sense of observation. His greedy, knowledge-hungry gaze absorbed everything — from the strained smile of the caretaker to the absurdly objectified attitudes of some of the kind doctors. And then, inevitably, it would return to his toys, leaving no room for the vibrant life that once flourished.
In his small hands, the headless bodies of his toys still held a faint warmth.
How curious.
"Leave us," he casually tossed to his awkwardly gathered colleagues. "Now."
After a record-breaking ten seconds, the commotion behind him finally subsided. Dr. Sawyer felt a grim satisfaction. None of those ridiculous — often simply irritating — tailless monkeys dared to utter a word against him. It was more about his well-earned reputation than his high position, but that suited him just fine.
The boy didn’t take his eyes off the transformed toys, though Harley noticed the tension in his thin shoulders. A sly grin played on the man’s cracked lips.
"Hey, Quinn," he said, pulling out a chair with a practiced motion and sitting down neatly across from the boy, who was sprawled on the floor. "It’s noisy in here today."
Quinn didn’t respond. Instead, he pulled out a nearly new toy from the line of smiling animal figures from under the bed and Intending to twist ot head off.
"Are you going to show me what real beauty looks like?" Harley asked softly, crossing his legs. For some reason, he had made it a habit to come here at least every other day. The boy’s deviant behavior amused him. It reminded him of something warm from his past.
"I’m going to rip its head off," Quinn replied dryly, suddenly tearing the plush head off with almost barbaric zeal. Factory stuffing spilled onto the floor.
Harley watched the process with a melancholy that had haunted him since he first met Quinn.
"Miss Harper will be upset if she sees this mess," Harley said, his thin brows furrowing in feigned concern. "Need help cleaning up?"
"Miss Harper gets upset when she sees you," Quinn stated bluntly, though he began a lazy cleanup. "Don’t bother. You’re a doctor."
And what’s that supposed to mean? Sawyer smirked, letting the child deal with his mess. Quinn gathered the stuffing and, to Harley’s surprise, dumped it right into his hands.
"Quinn, darling, do I look like a trash can?"
He didn’t feel anything. He didn’t want to get angry at Quinn or feel something as disgustingly cardinal as pity. Quinn wasn’t sick, at least not more than anyone else in this godforsaken place. But he was smart. And he played the part of a lunatic well.
"You’re a doctor. How else do you fill us up if not with stuffing?"
It was fascinating to unravel the strange conclusions the boy came to. Far more interesting than watching trembling assistants or listening to the dreary complaints of Leith Pierre, whose nervous system suggested he should retire at forty-three.
"We’re in the heart of Playtime, Quinn. Don’t the people here fill you with something more spiritual, like love?"
Something in Quinn’s expression flickered. Harley couldn’t quite tell if the boy was amused or horrified by the doctor’s remark.
Sawyer smiled a little more genuinely, brushing the stuffing onto the floor and leaning back in the chair. A child’s chair, of course. Naturally, there was no other furniture in the room of an eleven-year-old boy. And there was no point in changing anything; in four days, he would retake the test and show what he was truly capable of. Harley had already picked out the perfect role for him.
"They come here and demand things from me that I can’t give them," Quinn suddenly spoke quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pretended not to notice the man’s inappropriate behavior. "I apologize, but it’s never enough. What else can I do?"
"Is that why there was such a crowd earlier?" Harley asked curiously. "They demand your obedience, Quinn. Children obey adults and try not to rip the heads off their toys."
"They’re my toys."
What a thorough answer. A small, involuntary sigh escaped Harley’s lips, the existence of which he immediately erased from his memory.
"That’s true. You know best how to unlock their true potential, don’t you? I understand. Though the others don’t," he leaned forward slightly. "I’ve told you before, they don’t want to see the real you. I do."
"So you know better," Quinn’s voice remained detached and oddly mechanical for a child, but Sawyer thought he detected a hint of resentment. "How I should behave."
"I didn’t say that."
They sat in silence for a while longer. Quinn didn't like Harley, but Quinn intrigued him. He was a special child. Though, of course, all children were special in their own way, especially the exceptionally special ones he dissected on his worktable — but Quinn was... just different. He was intelligent, as much as a child could be, he was funny but not to the point of being despicable. Such a good boy.
Harley wanted to keep him for himself.
Quinn’s gaze grew heavier with each passing second, as if the doctor’s thoughts were echoing in his blond head. Harley gave him a serene smile.
Yes, such a good boy.
The silence was broken by a timid knock. A strange, hiccup-like sound escaped Quinn’s throat, and he hurried to open the door without looking back. He moved with a nervousness that was unusual for him, and the door swung open with impressive speed under the pressure of his fragile body. This didn’t stop Sawyer from catching a glimpse of the blurred outline of purple, coarse fur and two black voids that seemed to swallow the space around them.
CatNap.
Harley erased the moment his heart skipped a beat from his memory.
It was a terrifyingly fascinating creature, whose appearance some idiot had deemed suitable enough to allow 1188 to work with children. What was equally surprising was that the children had eventually grown to love it.
The proof was in the relieved sigh Quinn let out as he greeted the four-meter-tall cat at his doorstep, its face split by wide, empty eyes and an equally gaping maw capable of swallowing a dozen Quinns.
The massive head of CatNap twitched weakly toward Harley, as if struggling under its own weight.
"SLEEP."
A soul-rending roar erupted from the creature’s throat, more akin to a computer system crash and a death rattle combined. The scene unfolding before Sawyer felt like a clip from a horror movie. Life was far scarier than any fiction, and the realization filled him with a strange sense of pride and an indistinct melancholy. The creation before them stood as living proof of Harley Sawyer’s genius.
And the carelessness of voice module manufacturers. The world would have to wait for a proper voice for CatNap until the fall of England, at least.
"Hello, little beast," Harley greeted mockingly. "Nap time? Quinn, are you five?"
CatNap ignored him.
"SLEEP."
Now the behavior of 1188 stirred anger, but Sawyer forced himself to suppress it. He hadn’t expected to come face-to-face with one of the experiments, though he was aware that CatNap was stationed in Playcare. What annoyed him more wasn’t that.
It had distracted. Knocked, as if a human stood behind the door, and now loomed over Quinn, forming a disturbing contrast. As if protecting him from the doctor’s presence.
It was interesting... but mostly irritating.
Either way, Harley couldn’t stay any longer. CatNap’s behavior was predictable only around children. Without them, it became a fanatical lunatic, and who knew what the Prototype might whisper to it this time.
"Well, I’ll be going. Sleep well, Quinn. Rest up."
CatNap disappeared down the hallway, and Harley was able to leave the room. Quinn promptly closed the door behind him. Today, he seemed more upset than faux-foolish. That was good. He didn’t have the energy to play anymore.
Around a corner, CatNap lurked in the shadows, watching him with an expressionless gaze. Its head drooped lifelessly onto its chest, and its claws slowly scraped against the wooden floor.
Such charm.
***
Stella gave him a strange look and replied that children over seven didn’t have nap time in their schedule.
If Harley burst out laughing in the middle of her office, looking like a madman, that stupid bitch had no right to judge him.